In Whom We Trust
by razzle-dazzle-me
Summary: AU With only one Horcrux remaining and the end looming near, Harry pays Ginny a late night visit. Features Dark!Evil!Harry.


Summary: (AU) With only one Horcrux remaining and the end looming near, Harry pays Ginny a late night visit. Reality is tilting. Knowledge is capricious. Harry Potter is leading two separate lives, each bent to devour the other.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: Post-HBP. Warning - character deaths and semi-Dark!Harry. Written in response to StoneCold's 'In Tyler We Trust' challenge, found on forums(dot)darklordpotter(dot)net, where I go by the penname razz. Basically, think 'Fight Club' meets Harry Potter. Confused? Good! Read on, and enjoy :-)

**…In Whom We Trust…**

prologue

… … … … …

_When Fate destines one to ruin, it begins by blinding the eyes of his understanding._

_James Baillie Fraser_

… … … … …

…_Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone…_

'Then kill him, fool, and be done!' screeched Voldemort.

Quirrell raised his hand to perform a deadly curse, but Harry, by instinct, reached up and grabbed Quirrell's face -

'AAARGH!'

Quirrell rolled off him, his face blistering, and then Harry knew: Quirrell could not touch his skin, not without suffering terrible pain - his only chance was to keep a hold of Quirrell, force him to suffer such frightful agony that it would, hopefully, lead to his and the Dark Lord's death.

Harry jumped to his feet, caught Quirrell by the arm and hung on as tight as he could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Harry off - the pain in Harry's head was building - he couldn't see - he could only hear Quirrell's terrible shrieks and Voldemort's mounting yells of, 'KILL HIM! KILL HIM, BEFORE HE KILLS US!' and then, as fatigue overpowered him, Harry felt Quirrell's arm wrenched from his grip.

The castle of Hogwarts drowned in an oppressed silence, a slithering shred of barely humane soul, the lasting remnant of the Great Lord Voldemort, slowly sinking into darkness. And Harry, relinquishing in his triumph, fell deep into his own mind, down … down … down …

… … … … …

_'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,_

_not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse._

_The air hung heavy. The end was near._

_Light would fight Dark, the future unclear._

24th December, 1998.

Ginny could not sleep.

That wasn't surprising, of course, given the circumstances. The old wooden chairs that surrounded the Weasley's kitchen table couldn't exactly be classified as comforting, nor could the saucepan substitute her pillow. She should never have volunteered to wash up after the lavish pre-Christmas feast, and she undeniably should not have counted on any of her brothers offering to help. She knew better than that.

But no, Ginny didn't mind. She needed the time alone, the solitude.

Because they had been there, at the Burrow. All three of them. Acting as though they weren't exhausted, completely spent, entirely uncertain, and that their hope, their lives, did not hang in the balance of time. They had a plan, sure. But she knew them, loved them, far too much to be fooled. Their faces betrayed what went unasked.

A casual look thrown the wrong way. The abundance of fake laughter, fake cheer, false smiles. Fraudulent reassurance and queasy arrogance, contradictory and obviously counterfeit. Three pairs of eyes that had constantly darted here and there, drinking in the picture of all those present, burning into their minds a memory that would last eternally.

And she saw it in his eyes; that the end was so near, that nothing now stood between 'The Chosen One' and Tom Riddle. And for once, for the first time Ginny could remember, she wished the war would last just a little longer. In case. Just in case.

It had been the last supper.

But of what? The last supper with Harry, with optimistic expectations and solid, never wavering faith, trust, belief that they would, one day -the hazy eventually- be alright.

Or the last night of good before All Hell broke. If he failed. If he died.

A loud crack sounded outside then, and Ginny's eyes snapped open, her hands clutching her pillow -no, _ow_ pan!- in fright. She sat completely still, her breathing stopped, waiting for further sounds of an unwelcome intruder. Only none came.

Silence.

Dead silence.

Ginny cautiously pushed her chair back against the floor, heaving tired legs to stand, fumbling all the while with her pocket for her wand.

_"Hello? Ginny! It's me!"_

She jumped, panicking, her eyes wildly turning to find the voice - the voice she hardly dared believe just spoke.

Harry Potter tapped the window behind her, clearly amused. For a moment Ginny thought she was hallucinating, perhaps delusional, but then she could hear his teeth chattering and he put his finger to his lips, shushing her.

Oh, how she loathed that cocky grin.

"What _are_ you doing?" Ginny whispered furiously, glaring, but nevertheless swinging on her heels and moving from the room to open the door, to let him in - like she always did without hesitation.

When she flung the front door open he was there on the porch, already waiting, covered in a mist of snow and shivering uncontrollably.

"I couldn't sleep," he said by way of explanation, even then pushing past her to the kitchen. "Ron and Hermione are in the flat… I didn't want to bother them." There was no need to elaborate further.

Ginny snickered.

"Are you _still_ washing up? Merlin, Ginny, let me do it."

His wand flicked and bowed, the scrubbing brush quickly obeyed. Plates were thrown mercilessly into the sink.

"Thanks," Ginny smiled. There was an awkward pause.

"Er." He seemed unsure where to start, or what to say. She wasn't sure which.

"So," her eyes flicked from his wrist watch, reading it upside-down -11:30- to the dark circles under his eyes. Cheek bones were held prominent, lean diminished to too thin. Overall, Harry Potter looked right dreadful. "Uh…" Ginny began again, making another futile noise before she could stop herself.

They hadn't spoken properly in over a year.

"I just wanted to talk to you," Harry started. "I dunno if, well… _when_ I'll get another chance."

"And what do you mean by _that_?" She raised an eyebrow, her hands on her hips.

He shrank, defeated, cowering under her gaze. Well, at least that's what Ginny would have liked him to have done - a shrug of the shoulders was all she got.

"Er. Well…"

His eyes shifted to the open dish of leftovers, thin fingers reaching out to grab a carrot stick. Ginny sat herself on the edge of the table, resigned to the fact that she was intrigued, that she just had to hear whatever nonsense he would utter in diversion from veracity. Damn her morbid curiosity.

Harry met her gaze, a little reluctantly, gathering impulsive thoughts to be cool, calm, collected. "Ginny, I feel like… I feel like I need to get it all out in the open. Because I wont get another chance to tell you."

"Harry-" Ginny snapped, more sure of anything that she did _not_ want to hear his deathbed confessions, or, worse still, for new vows of undying love to plague her already restless sleep. She knew it already, there was no need for confirmation.

"No, don't. I want to tell you. I need to tell you this."

"But I understand, Harry," she interrupted, persisting again. "I've always understood you."

Harry shook his head, everting his gaze to the Weasley's infamous clock. The hands had yet to even twitch in months, never straying from Mortal Peril.

"I'm not who you think I am," Harry said after another pause, almost like he was trying to convince her - or trying to convince himself. Then he frowned, and their eyes met, and she knew in an instant that something was wrong - very, very wrong.

She stood abruptly, frozen, his wand suddenly pointed to her heart.

"It is as Tom Marvolo Riddle told us six years past," Harry stopped again, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

"I_ am Lord Voldemort."_

And as the spell fell from his lips, as red flashed though his eyes and the Dark Mark rose high into the frigid night air, Ginny Weasley realised it all too late: Harry Potter and the Dark Lord were one, united, combined as a duplicate evil.

"_Avada Kedavra._"

Slowly, crimson eyes locked back to the Weasley's clock, and the hand of Ginerva retired to Deceased.

… … … … …

_No excellent soul is exempt from a mixture of madness. _

_Aristotle_

… … … … …

…_1994, The Cemetery of Little Hangleton_…

'_Kill the spare._'

Cedric looked at him strangely, raising an eyebrow. 'What did you say, Potter?'

The cemetery was dark and overgrown, positively reeking of death. Harry could only stare at the looming figure, then there was a swishing noise and the high, cold voice spoke again, screeched the terrible words through the night. '_Avada Kedavra._'

A blast of green light blazed before Harry's eyelids, the pain in his scar reached such a pitch that he retched, and Cedric Diggory fell heavily to the ground beside him, dead.

Harry's wand was burning in his damp palm, though he did not know why.

000

It was as though Wormtail had flipped over a stone, and revealed something hideous, slimy and cold - but worse, a thousand times worse. The thing Wormtail had been carrying had the shape of a deformed human child; hairless and scaly looking, a dark, raw, reddish black. It's arms and legs were thin and feeble, and it's face - no child alive ever had a face like that - was flat and snake-like, with gleaming red eyes and slits in place of nostrils.

Wormtail paled, his eyes sweeping dismissively past his master and darting about the clearing. 'My Lord?'

'I am _here_, Wormtail,' the voice hissed again.

Wormtail stared, astonished, at Harry, just as he tied to let out a yell that was strangled in the wad of material blocking his mouth.

'Potter,' Wormtail snapped, stepping dangerously close to his Master's disabled form. 'What do you think you're playing at?'

The cauldron was heating fast, steam and bubbles rising from the surface, fiery sparks sent to flight. '_Hurry!_' Voldemort hissed.

Wormtail looked towards his Master, then back at Harry. '… it is ready.'

000

_'B-blood of the enemy … forcibly taken … you will … resurrect your foe.' _

He looked uncertainly at Harry, who sat, squirming in the cauldron, eyeing the amputated hand in disgust. 'Am I to… to cut _you_ Master?'

'No,' the Dark Lord hissed, angry. 'Are you so incompetent I must spell everything out for you? _Cut the boy_!' Voldemort gestured angrily to his father's gravestone. 'Harry Bloody Potter!'

Wormtail looked doubtfully back at where Harry had been bound against the old grave.

No-one was there.

000

'Now untie him, Wormtail, and give him back his wand.'

'Untie him?' Wormtail asked. 'But… untie _who_, my Lord?'

The Death Eaters stirred.

'I grow tired of your stupidity, fool. _Crucio_.'

000

Lucius Malfoy looked on, alarmed and horrified at his masters antics. Avery shivered. Macnair frowned. Crabbe and Goyle were dumbfounded - though this wasn't precisely unusual. Wormtail continued to sob, sprawled about the ground pathetically.

The Dark Lord Voldemort leaped about the field before them, hissing spells at his invisible opponent.

… … … … …

There was blood on his hands. Again. And, yet again, Harry was unable to offer any explanation as to why it was there. He sat on a park bench, snow falling in an arc around him, without any clue as to where he was, how he had gotten there, or what he had been doing all evening. It wasn't the first time either had happened; the blood or the confusion.

Distantly a Church bell chimed once, declaring early Christmas morning.

And Harry decided, shaking his head, nauseousness knitting its way through his stomach, that for once he really didn't want to know.

… … … … …

_The greatest obstacle to discovery is not ignorance - it is the illusion of knowledge._

_Daniel Boorstin_

… … … … …

…_1995, The Ministry Of Magic…_

'Master, I am sorry, I knew not, I was fighting the Animagus Black!' sobbed Bellatrix, flinging herself down at Voldemort's feet as he paced slowly nearer. 'Master, you should know -'

'Be quiet, Bella,' said Voldemort dangerously. 'I shall deal with you in a moment. Do you think I have entered the Ministry of Magic to hear your snivelling apologies?'

'But Master - he is here - he is…' Bellatrix stopped abruptly, turning back to where Harry had been only to find him gone.

Voldemort paid no attention.

'I have nothing more to say to you, Potter,' he said quietly, pointing his wand at the statue where Harry had been. 'You have irked me too often, for far too long. AVADRA KEDAVRA!'

Needless to say, the jet of acid green light sped off into nothingness.

000

Then he was gone and the water fell with a crash back into its pool, slopping wildly over the sides, drenching the polished floor.

'MASTER!' screamed Bellatrix.

But it was over, and Harry knew that Voldemort had fled, deciding then to run out from behind his statue guard, but Dumbledore bellowed: 'Stay where you are, Harry!' For the first time in his memory, Dumbledore seemed frightened, and Harry could not understand why. The hall was quite empty but for themselves, as, ironically, it had been all along.

… … … … …

"Harry, I've been worried!" she tossed the paper aside, standing. "Where on earth have you _been_?"

Hermione Granger was no fool - but nor was Harry Potter.

"Just for a walk," he said slowly, careful not to meet her eye.

"A _walk_?" Hermione shrieked. "At two in the morning!"

Harry shrugged. "Does it matter?"

She glared. "I don't know - you tell me."

"Of course not," he scoffed, walking past her to his room. He could feel her stiffen, resenting that he hadn't confided in her - but then, if he were to be honest, it had been a long time since Harry had really told anyone anything. He closed the door behind him gently, leaning on the frame till he heard the sounds of Hermione's departure from the lounge, and her soft footsteps across the hall into the room opposite his.

Tenderly, Harry lifted sticky red hands from the pockets of his robe, wondering why he couldn't bring himself to clean them. And a thought lingered in his mind, refusing to be ignored, so intensive he thought his head would explode and so unexplainable it was infuriating.

_Ginny is dead. _

And, even stranger, Harry could not seem to care.

**…pppqqq…**

A/N: Reviews are always appreciated. Hint hint.


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